There’s a recipe for this kind of thing, isn’t there? I can just see Ainsley Harriot. “Mix your basic three chords with some latino-sounding stuff... If you haven’t got any real latino music, you can get a good imitation from the local supermarket. Then you need a riff - I’m going to use one I made earlier. A bit of Sally Salt and Percy Pepper... What are you like?!”

I’d imagine this song took five minutes to write. And you thought “Pretty Fly For A White Guy” was dumbed-down commercial crap. Ignoring for a minute the fact that this is about as punk as William Hague and less convincing than Martin from Eastenders, it’s not even a good song. At least “Pretty Fly...” had a half-decent riff and a catchy chorus. This just makes me want to bite off my own ears.

And it just burrows into your brain. Hear it once, and it won't go away. Three weeks later, you find yourself walking down the road whistling a tune, but not knowing what it is. "What's this?" you ask yourself. "What is this vaguely familiar but rather irritating piece of pop music? Steps? Robbie Williams? New Kids on the Block?" Then it hits you. "It's that bloody Offspring song!" you scream loudly, attracting the attention of millions of old ladies with those annoying and extremely dangerous trolleys. For weeks, they tell their friends about "That nice young boy/girl (delete as applicable) who broke down in the street". It's their favourite anecdote for weeks.

Then you start hitting yourself and shouting, desperately trying to get the tune out of your head. You sing something else, anything else, loudly and out of tune in a futile attempt to clear your head. It's tragic when this happens to young people. Believe me, I've been there. The old ladies are still talking about it.